


Addicted

by starspangledmanwithaplan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Filthy, Fingerfucking, Gen, Language, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Rough Sex, Sex, Sex Addiction, Shameless Smut, Smut, Song Lyrics, Table Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, addicted, addicted to sex, kelly clarkson lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 19:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18611410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledmanwithaplan/pseuds/starspangledmanwithaplan
Summary: Your addiction to Bucky is spiralling out of control.





	Addicted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fvckingavengers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvckingavengers/gifts).



Bucky was like a drug. One taste, one  _ hit _ was all it took. You were addicted and there was no turning back. He’d gotten under your skin, prickling just below the surface, an itch you couldn’t quite scratch, surging white-hot through your veins, making you heady with desire. At the mere thought of him, lust slithered down your spine and tightened  _ deep _ in your gut like a boa constrictor. 

When you were with him, his hand between your legs, thick digits stroking you  _ just right _ , it was like you were witnessing galaxies being born. An explosion of color, stars scattering, constellations forming, burning bright, bright,  _ bright _ until you swore you would go blind. His tongue, that thick, dexterous muscle would wrap around your throbbing clit, making you scream until your throat was raw. 

He would bend you over the table, or couch, or edge of the bed, hands on your ass, spreading you wide so he could watch as he fucked you, his cock glistening with your slick, pounding into you at a punishing pace. Any noises you made were  _ punched _ out of you, hands scrambling for purchase as you squeezed him  _ achingly _ tight. 

“Fuck, doll,” he would growl. “Gonna make me cum like a fuckin’ teenager.” God, that mouth of his. 

Those perfect teeth would sink into your skin, just about to break the skin but not quite, adding that needed bit of pain to send you soaring. Higher and  _ higher _ he’d push you, middle finger swirling and tapping your clit, buried balls deep inside of you, curved cock hitting  _ that spot, oh fucking christ, yes,  _ with precision only a professional assassin had. 

He would cum inside of you, cock pulsing, thick vein  _ pounding _ , hips stuttering, a roar of your name deafening you. The sticky white of it would drip down your thighs, hot and thick, the sight of it turning him on even more. He’d be velvet pulled over steel hard in the blink of an eye, driving into you before you’d even caught your breath. Again and again until you passed out. 

On your worst days, when you needed him the most, you would whine pitifully. “I  _ need _ you, baby. Just a little bit  _ more _ to get me through this.” And fuck, did he give it. 

_ More _ didn’t only mean harder, faster,  _ deeper _ . It meant his vibranium hand on your throat,  _ squeezing _ until black ate at the edges of your vision. It meant crimson handprints on your ass and tits. It meant his cock down your throat, bulging, gagging, tears streaming down your face, nails leaving crescent moons in his thick thighs. It meant bite marks on your shoulders and belly. It meant he could do  _ whatever _ the fuck he wanted, short of  _ actually _ killing you. But you loved it.  _ God, _ how you loved it. 

When Bucky fucked you, nothing else mattered. Not the fact that you had been  _ completely _ unmade at the hands of HYDRA, put back together with duct tape and safety pins. Not the fact that you’d watched cities burn by your hand, killing thousands of people, families, loved ones. You were  _ fucked up _ , six ways from Sunday, but being with Bucky made you forget all of that. 

The moment you were alone, all of that darkness flooded you, brought you to your knees. You couldn’t breathe, lungs constricted, throat closed. It was too much, the burden too heavy, weighing you down, pinning you to the floor. Bucky. You needed Bucky. You  _ craved _ Bucky. 

_ One more _ , you had texted him, weakly vowing silently that it would be the last time. You could handle it, get a grip on it, your addiction, the carnal craving. One more and then you’d quit it, quit  _ him _ . 


End file.
